


The List

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Seduction, John's Beard, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Lists, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has gotten John involved in a community play to help solve a crime and accidentally triggers a reaction in himself that he really did not expect. Upon examination he strikes upon a plan to help himself solve the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realization

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt offered was this upon review of this chapter's graphic: 
> 
> "John is doing this for a case. Sherlock didn't know how good his acting was."
> 
> I hope this entertains you.

The community theater was doing their annual fundraiser and right away had run into several rather dark problems. Different people had auditioned for the various roles but one way or another many of them had met with rather painful accidents that had then taken them out of the running. Sherlock had been hired by the manager to see what he could discover but it was John that ended up doing all the legwork for the detective. “Why do I have to be in the play?” demanded John angrily.

“Perfect, keep that emotion going, remember it. You’ll need that later.” said Sherlock who was very excited. John was absolutely perfect for the role as the lead. “You’ll need to grow a beard. I’ve taken the liberty of binning your electric razor and all your disposables.”

“You did what? That shaver was a Christmas gift from Harry!” John seemed actually angry but Sherlock chose to ignore it. John always got angry and always reined it in. It was one of his most useful traits, his self-control. “I could have just not used it. You didn’t need to bin it.”

“She didn’t even buy it for you John. She ordered a leg-shaving kit for herself online but she was drunk and ordered the regular kit for men instead of the one for women. I’m doing you a favor, it was a terrible brand.” John was glaring at Sherlock who thought John’s expression was rather enticing. His blue eyes really snapped when he was getting mad and his brow furrowed in the most delicious way when he was frowning but Sherlock had learned that John had limits. Pushed too far and John had no problem breaking out his fists. Sherlock was quick on his feet and had learned the read the signs on John’s face that let him know that punches to the face were very soon no longer going to be subtext.

John decided to move on to his next point, “I don’t know anything about acting.” John was a naturally honest and straight-forward person. Sherlock was the one who constantly thought up new disguises and came up with clever ways of pretending not to be himself. John had learned a bit about it but had never once been in a play, never-mind the lead!

“It’s community theater John, a few hours a week. I know you can manage it.” said Sherlock flippantly. 

That had been a month ago and the play involved hours comparative to having a full time job that paid nothing. John was busy all the time with rehearsals as well as still working other cases for Sherlock and working at the clinic. Most nights he fell into bed exhausted, his script still in his hand. Sherlock felt very satisfied by the state of affairs, especially since John was too busy to date and spent all his free time not at work with Sherlock, which was the right and natural way John’s life should be organized.

John disagreed again, “I’m taking a night out.” he said one evening when Sherlock tried to drag him out for another case. Admittedly it was only a three but anything was better than nothing sometimes. John already had his coat on which Sherlock had mistakenly thought meant John was coming with him. “I’ll be back after the pubs close if I’m unlucky.”

John left Sherlock standing there, not realizing that a scowl now resided on his face. John was going on the pull tonight! How DARE he blow Sherlock off in favor of trying to find a random bed-mate? Sherlock did some calculations in his head. The last time John had been successful on one of these little bar hunts was nearly half a year ago, oddly, right after his divorce from Mary. He’d received his signed copy of the papers, left the flat and come home the next day reeking of overly sweet perfume, a very faint mark low on his neck where someone had kissed with extra-enthusiasm. After that there had been nothing, just the odd evening out with people like Lestrade or the many old friends John had made while in the army.

Sherlock was several blocks away from Baker Street before he realized he was searching for John. Tonight was Thursday, potentially a good night for anyone too impatient to wait till the actual weekend for their fun to start. John would be looking for someone blatantly eager, and easily seduced. Sherlock knew from John’s bank records the sorts of places he liked to frequent and based on John’s mood tonight Sherlock made a decision that he would never refer to as an educated guess and hailed a taxi.

Sherlock got there first and was able to sit at the bar waiting for John without looking like he was doing anything of the sort. He privately congratulated himself when he saw via the bar mirror an angry John standing at the entrance looking shocked as well. John stormed over, “Why are you here?” he hissed. The bar lights made the red in John’s beard especially delightful.

“I’m having a drink! Why are YOU here?” demanded Sherlock who knew very well why John was there. There were scores of women everywhere, all done up as racily as they could manage, many eyeing the other women as well as the men. Sherlock had been sized up and smiled at invitingly several times already.

“I wanted a night out. You’re ruining that. Go home Sherlock.” said John sternly.

“I can observe….”

“No you can’t. All I want is an evening out to just be out. Go home Sherlock!”

Sherlock protested by pulling a face and drawing himself up to refuse but suddenly John’s entire demeanor changed. His small body seemed to shift and alter the tiniest bit and suddenly John’s presence seemed to blank out everyone else present and Sherlock was one hundred percent focused on the tightly wound man in front of him. John’s voice was sharp and crisp. Sherlock barely stopped himself from shuddering with outright pleasure when John barked out his order, “Go home Sherlock. Now.”

Sherlock was in a taxi and on the way home before the spell broke and he almost gasped in horror. What had John just done? How had he made Sherlock simply do as he was told without question? No one had that ability! Sherlock prided himself on his prickliness. He wasn’t interested in getting on with people, and he certainly wasn’t interested in obeying them!

John came home only ten minutes after the pub closed. Sherlock was in his room, his door firmly shut but as soon as John’s bedroom door closed for the night Sherlock went out to the front room and inspected John’s coat. It smelled of alcohol and faintly of women’s perfume but nothing blatant. John might have flirted but had either gotten no further or had chosen to simply leave his night as mere conversation. Interesting.

The next morning John was still angry with Sherlock but that was alright because John was marching around in the most delicious way, his motions all precision and barely restrained violence. Sherlock ensconced himself at the breakfast table, for all intents and purposes doing an experiment with fanatical concentration but in reality he was observing each and every move John made.

He was different somehow and Sherlock felt that weird shudder of pleasure try to wrack him once more. “Where are all the eggs? I was going to make eggs for breakfast today.”

“I used them to incubate some things. You can run down to the shops later.” Sherlock winced inside. He hadn’t actually meant to use them all. He was going to leave three behind for John’s breakfast in case he was especially hungry but had gotten distracted and ended up using the entire dozen before he’d caught himself. 

“No I can’t because I leave for work in twenty minutes and I’ve….you know what? Never mind.” John poured coffee into an insulated cup, screwed the lid on with unnecessary ferocity and stormed away. Sherlock missed him instantly and stood at the window watching John’s rage filled walk with growing dismay. He’d stood there for nearly half an hour after he lost sight of the doctor before he realized what he had done and he reeled with shock this time! Sherlock was openly and actively pining for John! WHAT!!!

Sherlock drank his tea quickly and sat himself on the sofa to think. He locked himself into his mind palace and with feverish intent began sifting and sorting through everything he knew about John to try and pinpoint when this madness had begun. After an hour or so he found it. It had been some time just after they’d met and Sherlock was having communication problems with the Yard and their inability to just let him do his job. John and Anderson had been having words with one another. John always tried to avoid confrontation but he really could only be provoked so far before he snapped. John had snapped. With that crisp barking voice he’d cleared Anderson away and allowed Sherlock to view the scene in peace. That was the first time Sherlock had felt pleasure at the tone of command in John’s voice.

Still that had been ages ago and Sherlock hadn’t been quite so mindless in his reactions, had he? He searched his memories anxiously, how could he have missed this change? What was so different now?

Oh god.

The beard!

John’s beard was well grown now, neatly trimmed and tidily maintained. It changed how John appeared, making him seem somehow more than he had previous. It had a definite ginger color to it as well, and led Sherlock to wondering if other patches of hair might also not exactly match the hair on John’s head. That’s when Sherlock realized he was turned on for the first time in years and he was horrified anew.

John could never know! That would unbalance everything Sherlock had grown to depend on. Sherlock was the one who made the decisions! Sherlock was the one who dictated their lives. John made things happen but ONLY because Sherlock had caused him to do so. Feeling this new way about John was the exact opposite of what Sherlock was prepared to accept as his functional social paradigm.

Two nights later and it was opening night for the play. Sherlock had entirely given up the idea that he could ignore his transport which had grown rapidly insistent that he resolve matters in an expeditious manner. Sherlock had long since solved the not-very-interesting mystery but John had refused to drop out. “They can’t find another lead in time. I made a promise Sherlock. I’m doing this, so thanks for your support.”

Sherlock very rarely understood when John was being sarcastic and missed this time too, “You are entirely welcome John. I’ll give you my critique of your performance later though; I know how you prefer discretion for that sort of thing.” Sherlock then went back to ignoring John who went on for a bit in his delightfully angry voice before leaving for the playhouse.

Sherlock dressed as if he were going to the opera and sat in a nicely private box so he could view John without disruption. Things went from bad to worse from the second the curtain rose till it finally fell heralded by a thunderous standing ovation. The players came out and did a bow again, John waving to small groups of people who whistled and cheered for his performance while Sherlock sat rooted to his seat, completely unable to move.

The theater emptied slowly and Sherlock waited until he was as alone as he could get before he got up. Very carefully Sherlock pulled on his Belstaff and walked awkwardly to the front street where crowds of people were clamoring for a side-door appearance by John. Sherlock flagged a waiting taxi and got himself home before anyone could see that his hand in his pocket was holding back the firmest erection Sherlock had ever experienced.

John!

Oh my god John!

He’d been transformed onstage. John’s natural commanding ability had been further morphed and enhanced by the simple yet effective coat and braid he’d been wearing to depict his character. The beard was part of his onstage identity but it combined with the vibrant red of the coat, the gold of the braid complementing the gold in John’s hair and the hint of it in his skin, well, it had been devastating. When John’s voice crackled over the audience, filled with dark menace and power Sherlock had discovered his hand was at his lap, palming himself unconsciously and he blushed, grateful for the privacy he was in. Imagine how embarrassing that would have been if he’d elected to sit in the front rows?

Sherlock fled home without waiting for John, locking himself in his room and for the first time in years he’d been forced to masturbate, resorting to saliva because he hadn’t needed to get lube since college. Sherlock was still mostly dressed. He’d pushed his trousers down below his knees with his pants, knelt on his bed with his shoed feet hanging over the edge and come so hard after less than a minute that he couldn’t stifle the very audible groans of satisfaction his transport manifested along with an almost embarrassing quantity of ejaculate.

Sherlock had to remake his bed once his thighs stopped trembling and his vision cleared. It took a few minutes to find a replacement blanket for the one he had just thoroughly soiled. By the time he was done, washed up, finished his sneaky smoke because he’d told John he’d quit, washed up again AND brushed his teeth, John was finally back. He was tired. “I need tea.”

Sherlock made John tea while he changed and cleaned up. John grunted his thanks and sat at the table, “You didn’t come tonight.” stated John flatly.

Sherlock was surprised and almost blushed at John's unintentional innuendo, “I did come tonight. You just couldn’t see me from the stage. I was in the central private box.” John hadn’t looked up even once and perhaps that was a good thing. Sherlock had no idea what his face had been up to while John performed. He hadn’t even been able to keep track of his hand! John was clearly waiting for some kind of comment, “I was very impressed.” That seemed a safe enough thing to say, certainly better than, “I was harder than diamonds by the last scene, how about a shag John?”

John looked happily surprised but then, “Why didn’t you come backstage? I was waiting for you.”

“You were? Apologies John, I simply assumed you were busy with your new fans.” There had been quite a crowd at the stage door.

John groused, “You’re my best mate and the only reason I was even doing this, so yeah, I was expecting you. I did that door thing for only five minutes. It felt weird.”

“I enjoyed the play. I will of course attend the entire run.” Sherlock was trying to come across as supportive and not needy because John was giving him one of those John looks that told Sherlock John didn’t quite believe him. “You did this to help me John. The very least I can do is watch.” Then mount him and rut like an animal but John couldn’t know that. Not yet at least.

As soon as he was locked safely in his room for the night Sherlock began devising a plan to get John into bed with him. Seducing John couldn’t be hard; the doctor had a high sex drive that hadn’t been properly satisfied in ages. Sherlock found an online magazine that provided a helpful list of things to consider and decided to ignore the fact that he’d never had sex before as irrelevant. Things went in, moved around a bit until you came and then you cleaned up. It seemed very straightforward.

Sherlock downloaded the list and began going over it thoughtfully.

1: Cross His Path...the Right Way – Sherlock had no idea what that meant so he pondered it for a minute or two and made a note. His efforts to ‘accidentally’ hang out with John the other night had not gone well. Clearly more planning was required.

2: Relinquish the Reluctant Dude – That sounded an awful lot like giving up so Sherlock crossed this piece of advice off his list. If he stopped doing things just because John didn’t want to they’d never get anything done and Sherlock would never get to have sex with John. He went back and crossed the item off a second time, for emphasis.

3: His facial muscles relax. – That wasn’t news to Sherlock. He’d been reading John’s facial expressions since the second they’d met. John was 67% more relaxed with Sherlock than any other individual including family members. Sherlock had made note of that fact ages ago.

4: He introduced you to a bud. – Sherlock got excited at this one once he looked up the euphemisms for ‘bud’. John had in fact introduced Sherlock to several of his VA friends, almost shyly presenting the taller man as his best friend. Did this mean that maybe John had hidden feelings for Sherlock? That would certainly make this whole thing easier.

5: His body faced you. – that was just stupid. John’s body always faced him. It was as if Sherlock exuded some kind of magnetic force and John’s entire being responded to it. That was old hat and not helpful right now at all.

6: He asked questions. – Sherlock got all melty inside. John did ask questions, lots of them. He asked Sherlock more questions than absolutely anyone, struggling to follow along with Sherlock’s incomparable mind like a dim but devoted pet. It was absolutely the most adorable thing the soldier did. Sherlock circled this one, surely it was important.

Now that he had a guideline of sorts Sherlock sat himself down for a long think. He didn’t want to make mistakes. The play would continue for the rest of the month and after that the beard would go so Sherlock didn’t have much time. He wasn’t sure why the beard was so very important but it was high on his list and hadn’t changed much in status despite the lack of evidence. Sherlock understood that he didn’t have much experience with relationships but surely he could manage to at least get John into bed! List in hand Sherlock began to plan.


	2. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a scientist so he's going about this scientifically.

 

Hours flew by in a frantic search. Sherlock ran up to John’s room a dozen times to ask him questions before stopping himself and allowing John to continue sleeping. Sherlock read all night long and had downloaded several lists that apparently provided the formulaic means to win his man. In between he worked on experiments in the kitchen and fixed Mrs. Hudson’s cake mixer which she had managed to gum up. Three or four test batches of batter saw it working perfectly and the Sherlock went back to his priority project. He stuck with the most promising list he could find:

1) Be Confident: Sherlock had loads of confidence. He checked this item off immediately.

2) Smile: Sherlock needed to think about this. His smiles looked odd and he tried to not do it but around John, Sherlock barely noticed, he just smiled. Deciding to leave it as a naturally occurring event and not to force it, Sherlock checked this item off too.

3) Place Yourself In His Path: Sherlock cross-referenced this one with his original list. Obviously this was a very important point but Sherlock still had no idea how to go about it without making John angry in an unsexy way.

4) Play it Cool: What did that even mean? Was he supposed to be frigid? That didn’t seem conducive to getting John between the sheets with him. Sherlock put a big question mark beside this one.

5) Make Him Laugh: Checking it off. Sherlock made John laugh all the time. Crime scenes counted didn’t they? Well, they would for Sherlock. He checked it off and put a happy face there.

6) Be Nice To His Friends: Maybe there was room for negotiation here. Surely John wouldn’t expect Sherlock to be nice to the people John was friendly with. That would be absolutely everyone. The man got on with individuals easily. Sherlock put another question mark down.

7) Use the "3 strikes and you're out” rule: this suggestion got the same treatment as the Reluctant Dude one. Sherlock crossed it out heavily. It was entirely inconceivable to even consider giving up John. Sherlock didn’t question himself for an instant on that point. It was literally unthinkable for him.

8) Have a Successful First Date: How? None of these items had suggested how to get a first date never mind making sure it was a success! Sherlock made a note to look up dating to see what it necessitated. There certainly was a lot of work involved in getting someone into bed. Sherlock had a whole new respect for John’s bed-hopping past. He must be the most amazing chat-up artist.

9) Pay Attention to his Interests: John’s interests were all concerning Sherlock’s welfare and happiness or at least, that’s how it seemed to Sherlock. This was going to be the easiest item on the list yet!

10) Don’t Take Him for Granted: this one caused Sherlock to stop what he was doing and stare somberly at his keyboard. He did take John for granted and had many times. Sherlock felt regret for that for the first time ever. John was a good man, he did many things for Sherlock that no one else would. He was Sherlock’s best friend. He put a star beside this suggestion and circled it as well. He looked back at the previous item and put a small star beside it. Sherlock would make sure to find out what John’s interests actually were before deciding they were looked after.

11) Maintain Some Space: John did like to go for fresh air a lot when he was angry. Perhaps Sherlock could do something else to give John some space, maybe a movable partition or something in the front room so they weren’t in each other’s faces every moment.

12) Decide if he’s Truly Worth It: of all the ridiculous queries! Of course John Watson was worth it! Sherlock almost crossed this one out but instead put a star beside it, and for some reason, a small heart.

13) Tell Him How You Feel: Sherlock pondered this one too. Should he just go up to John and say “You’ve set my genitals aflame, take care of it?” Somehow Sherlock didn’t think that would work so well on John who was a very feeling person. Sherlock reluctantly decided to table this item until the very last possible moment but still drew a tiny heart beside it.

It was nearly time for John to get up and go to work so Sherlock helpfully made a racket in the kitchen to encourage his best mate to get up on time. Fifteen minutes after he started clanging around John’s alarm went off. John stomped downstairs looking grouchy. Okay then, Item 1 and Item 3 could come directly into play! Stepping so he was very slightly in John’s way Sherlock declared his intention to join John for breakfast. Neither tactic seemed to be efficacious since John just pushed Sherlock aside without a word and made himself tea. Sherlock got up after a minute of tea-less-ness and tried to make himself a cup, “Did you sleep well?”

John glared at Sherlock, his eyes tight and bleary looking, “Do I seem well rested to you Sherlock?” Sherlock scanned John. His eyes were puffy, he seemed older than usual, and low-energy. John was sitting slightly slumped forward and the only part of him that crackled with energy were his eyes which Sherlock now noticed were very, very angry.

Weakly he answered, “No John.”

“Excellent observation, now why would I be lacking in rest?” Sherlock thought for a moment, John had come home very late after the play and his shift started in only thirty minutes. Still that was a good six hours of sleep; Sherlock could go for days on only four. When it became obvious that he had no answer John gave it to him, “I’m tired because I was woken up I don’t know how many times by YOU thundering up and my stairs all night, by YOU running some kind of machine in the kitchen, and by YOU not muting your laptop so it dinged every time you opened a new page! Do you really have to keep the volume on maximum? Doesn’t that noise bother you?” 

Sherlock hadn’t really noticed the laptop’s sounds. He was now painfully aware of the decibel level of the noise he’d made all night long. Mrs. Hudson slept with earplugs and had since Sherlock had first moved in but John refused, too wary as an old soldier to handicap himself like that. “My apologies John, I had intended to get your advice about a variety of topics but recalled that you were sleeping so I forwent waking you. Mrs. Hudson has a birthday party to bake for but her mixer was broken, she needs it back today. I didn’t notice the laptop. Again, apologies John.”

Well that whole idea had been a bust right off the bat. Sherlock looked down at his empty tea cup sadly. He’d never woo John this way. Sherlock hadn’t even really started trying and he’d already failed spectacularly. Suddenly John’s hand was in view, he was taking Sherlock’s teacup away. Two minutes later it reappeared with perfect tea inside. Sherlock looked up and saw mixed emotions on John’s face, “Well, I guess you at least didn’t actively try to wake me up, that’s something. Thanks for helping Mrs. Hudson, that’s actually very nice. Turn down the volume on your laptop before you forget. I’m going to shower.”

John left for the clinic with only some toast in hand. Sherlock thought about that and then showered and changed before going to the shops himself. He didn’t understand what John found so intimidating about shopping, it was entirely easy! Sherlock filled his push-cart with everything he remembered John liked, especially milk and eggs, and went through the check-out with ease. He had to call a taxi to help him get it back to Baker Street and then forced the young driver to at least help Sherlock haul the boxes into the foyer by bribing him with an outrageous tip.

Sherlock binned all the old things and replaced them with new things then set to work for real. In no time he had a small cooler bag neatly packed along with a thermos he’d bought special for this and filled with hot chocolate, set off for the clinic. The receptionist recognized Sherlock, instantly inhaling a bit deeper and trying to catch his eye, “I need to leave this in John’s office. I know he’s doing rounds this morning. Tell him it’s waiting as soon as he gets back.”

She made a bit of a moue for having no effect on him but allowed him to deposit the bag and thermos on John’s desk. Sherlock left before John could see him. The last thing Sherlock wanted to do was try Item 3 one more time. Content that he’d done his best Sherlock went home and lay down to finally sleep.

He woke up just as John was coming home. The doctor was in an extraordinarily good mood. “Finally up? Guess what? I have a secret admirer. I think it might be Janet in reception. She was blushing and winking a bit. Whoever it was made a bloody good lunch. I was starving! I even got hot chocolate. I don’t know how long it’s been since I had any.” Last January. They’d shared a small container of chocolate on a particularly cold evening.

Sherlock felt very awkward. The receptionist, Janet, hadn’t told John it was Sherlock who’d brought the food. If Sherlock told John now John wouldn’t believe it. He’d think Sherlock was having him on. John made it worse when he looked in the fridge, “Mrs. Hudson! What an angel, you know she can’t really afford to be shopping for us! You should be nicer to her.” Sherlock said nothing. What could he say? He went back to his room in silence and looked at his list.

Sherlock read it end from end. He must be doing things wrong. John wouldn’t be home long, he’d eat and then he’d leave for the theater. John shouted over to him, “If you bother to make it tonight don’t forget to come backstage!”

Sherlock cheered up, “I promised John. I will be watching from the same seat.” John got himself ready and departed after a large snack and a bit of a wash. Sherlock chastised himself; he should have had dinner ready. Well, he had a bit of time before the curtains rose so Sherlock took himself back to his laptop to try and figure out how to do better.

Sherlock got himself done up beautifully again, this time taking the precaution of masturbating first so he would be able to hopefully not entirely humiliate himself when he went backstage afterward. Once again Sherlock’s groans were exuberant as well as loud and he had to lay down for several minutes to recover, his thighs trembling with the stunning aftershocks. The flush in his cheeks took a long time to subside but by the time he was safely ensconced in his box it didn’t matter.

Sherlock was as swept away the second time. The play was over, the applause once again thunderous, everyone in the audience hugely appreciative of the show. Sherlock was hard again and he groaned with despair. How was he going to manage this? Tucking himself in as much as he was able to Sherlock picked up his Belstaff, folded it over his arm and held it in front of his stomach. It would have to do, perhaps being surrounded by strangers would let Sherlock’s erection ebb away on its own.

Sherlock was forced to stand in a queue to see John. Once he made his way within eye-shot though John just called him right up, “There you are! Everyone, this is Sherlock.” Sherlock heard a large chorus of hellos from all around. He nodded politely at everyone. Thankfully being in public did the trick and he was able to lower his coat without appearing conspicuous.

“The play was admirable.” Sherlock told John seriously. Frowns all around blossomed at hearing his seeming scant appreciation but John’s face lit right up. “You were impressive all over again John.”

“The highest praise!” said John sincerely and grinned at Sherlock who couldn’t help himself and smiled right back.

“So this is the bloke that won’t even let you sleep?” snarked someone in the crowd of players and John flushed, but laughed a bit awkwardly.

Sherlock felt his heart drop a bit. This was what John told others about him? That he was inconsiderate? Sherlock swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat, “I can wait for you at home John. I believe they’re expecting you at the side door.” With as warm a smile as he could manage Sherlock turned and made his way out of the theater, not hearing John calling after him over the conversations all around him.

Sherlock felt odd, like his chest was tight and there was a weird sensation around his heart. It wasn’t exactly pain but it was a lancing feeling. He didn’t like it. As soon as he got home Sherlock changed out of his suit, into a pair of the rattiest pajamas he owned and began chain-smoking on the fire-escape. There was a sense of anxiety that was rising within him and he wasn’t sure why or how to stop it. Sherlock nearly leapt out of his skin when a hand appeared and pinched his third cigarette out, “Sherlock! You arse! You told me you quit.”

John made Sherlock go brush his teeth, grumbling about the smell. Sherlock washed up dourly and just took himself to his room to lie down. He heard John moving about the flat before he went to his room for the night. Sherlock lay there, sleepless and feeling incredibly unpleasant in the chest region the entire time.

Sherlock kept himself away from John the next morning but still made John a packed lunch and delivered it to his office. Janet smirked at him, “Please tell John that Sherlock brought this for him.” She smiled and waved goodbye. Sherlock made as if he were leaving but as soon as she stopped watching he secreted himself in the waiting room behind a row of brochures to watch if she told John about his gift. She didn’t, or at least, Sherlock didn’t have a chance to find out. John caught him lurking, “Sherlock! Why are you here? Wait. Don’t answer that. For heaven’s sake Sherlock don’t come hang around my work unless you legitimately need medical help! Go home.”

Sherlock was a bit shocked at the amount of hurt he felt when John chivvied him out of the building in front of everyone. Janet was smirking again and Sherlock turned to walk off with as much grace as he could muster. Once he made it home Sherlock reviewed his list with a sinking heart. So far nothing had worked out at all. John had gotten angry every time Sherlock showed up, Janet was stealing his thunder by allowing John to assume she was doing the flirting, and the list was totally lacking in usefulness.

Sherlock made dinner. With a lot of advice from Mrs. Hudson Sherlock cooked all of John’s favorite comfort foods, served them neatly and kept two covered plates warm in the oven. Molly called asking him to come pick up samples so Sherlock shut everything off and left the flat. At least he could still do his experiments. If he hurried he’d be back in time to eat with John.

John had Janet over. They were eating Sherlock’s dinner together, “Hi Sherlock. This is Janet, you know, from the clinic.” They didn’t offer Sherlock a bite and for once he was hungry. They’d cleared their plates and Janet giggled around the kitchen with John while cleared up a bit, “Well, this has been lovely but I have to get ready for the show tonight.”

Janet tittered and said she wished she could come but she had to get home. John grinned and winked, telling her he’d talk to her the next day. Whistling happily John went to shower before leaving for the evening, “If you see Mrs. Hudson can you tell her how great dinner was? Thanks.”

John left. Sherlock put away his samples, washed the dishes, made himself a sandwich with some probably alright lunch meat that was in the back of the crisper and felt bleak. Still, he had promised so as with the last two nights Sherlock pulled on his nicest suit, fixed his hair, and straightened his tie then left.

It happened again. This time Sherlock just got up, straightened himself up a bit before covering himself with his Belstaff, and went to meet John backstage. Sherlock got there just in time to hear John sing Mrs. Hudson’s praises, “Janet was really impressed, Mrs. Hudson really is the best cook. It’s too bad Sherlock won’t eat, he doesn’t know what he missed out on!”

Someone else called out, “What, he’s too snooty to eat regular food? What a freak!” Sherlock turned on his heel and left, not seeing John’s horrified expression or hearing John’s angry shout. Sherlock’s heart was pounding. What kinds of stories did John tell these people? Sherlock’s chest was tighter now, that lancing sensation around his heart worse than ever. John clearly didn’t have many reasons to think well of Sherlock as was shown by what John chose to tell them about the man who had assumed they were best friends.

Sherlock went back to Baker Street. It was too quiet. He tried to play his violin but it wouldn’t sing for him. Sherlock changed his clothes, pulling on an older, plainer suit, tugged on his Belstaff and left. He needed to think and 221 B Baker Street was no longer able to let him do that. Sherlock wandered London instead, not stopping until the dawn. Sherlock stood on the street in front of Speedy’s until it opened. He made sure to take a side booth so that he could see John leave for the clinic but John couldn’t see him. He went home and slept for a couple of hours.

He made John lunch again. Janet wasn’t at the desk today so Sherlock smiled at the temp and told her why he was there. She giggled and said she couldn’t let him in the office but that she’d be glad to leave it there for him. Sherlock smiled and felt lighter. He went home, cleaned up, got dinner prepared to cook and took another nap. He was exhausted and woke just as John was leaving. John had made dinner for himself but not for Sherlock. The uncooked leftovers were in the fridge. Sherlock felt bleak again and didn’t understand.

He had promised so he went. This time Sherlock was painfully aware of how his body reacted helplessly to John while he was onstage, of how his heart ached so much that he was finding it difficult to breathe. When the curtain fell Sherlock made himself go backstage where Janet was obviously waiting for John. Sherlock didn’t go a step further. He left and once again didn’t see John watch him go, or dismay on John’s face.

Sherlock went home and put on his street clothes, leaving his Belstaff hanging by the door, and closing his bedroom up so it looked as if he were asleep. He needed drugs, badly. Sherlock made himself walk around first though, to see if the desire would leave him but it didn’t so at one in the morning Sherlock went to a building he knew and came out fifteen minutes later with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Mycroft was waiting for him on the street. Grimacing Sherlock handed over the small bag without comment and let Mycroft take him home, “After so long Sherlock? May I ask why?” for once Mycroft wasn’t mocking. He seemed concerned and actually worried.

“I don’t know Mycroft. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Please, not a word to John. I won’t slip again and he’s been very busy.” Mycroft looked like he wanted to disagree but nodded instead as the car stopped in front of Baker Street.

Sherlock wanted drugs even more when he walked in and saw John and Janet on the sofa, not exactly kissing but certainly only moments away. “Apologies John, I…excuse me.” Sherlock went to his room and locked himself in. Searching desperately he found his iPod and headphones and turned the volume up as much as he could. Sherlock changed into his pajamas and sat in the center of his bed, his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs as he struggled not to think of what John was doing in their home right now with Janet.

The next morning showed no sign of John or Janet. Sherlock made himself a strong coffee and took two paracetamols. His head was pounding and he felt dizzy. His skin felt too tight and his throat was scratchy. Sherlock needed John but John wasn’t there. He was with Janet. Sherlock went to the bathroom and washed his face, willing the nausea away. His head was going to split. He fumbled for his phone. “Mycroft. Migraine.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Go sit in your room.” Mycroft didn’t question anything. Ten minutes later he arrived with a small bottle of very particular medication that Sherlock was only allowed under set circumstances, “Where is John?”

“I don’t know. With his girlfriend I suppose.” said Sherlock miserably. His head hurt so much that he allowed his brother to help him take his pills and to coax some water down his reluctant throat. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be brother mine, I’m taking you home. Close your eyes Sherlock, take my hands.” Gently his brother set dark glasses over Sherlock’s closed eyes before Mycroft led him gently from Baker Street, closed him in a dark car and brought him to his townhouse where Sherlock was put into the room Mycroft kept for him. The heavy curtains were drawn and Mycroft got Sherlock to sip more water before the drugs kicked in fully. Sherlock was losing his connection with reality when he felt Mycroft’s hand on his forehead, “Rest little brother. I will watch over you.” Secure, Sherlock fell asleep.

Sherlock stayed at Mycroft’s for four days recovering. His migraine did not cease for a full thirty hours and then he felt weak and ill. Sherlock knew there was no one at Baker Street to help him so he suffered in silence at his brother’s home. When he finally got back to their flat John was angry and yelling at him, “Why the FUCK do you do that? Where have you been Sherlock? Will you even tell me or is it a great big huge secret like everything else?”

“Apologies again John, I was with my….” John cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear about which dealer you were with. You promised you wouldn’t do that Sherlock, just like you promised you’d be there every night and you haven’t been! Thanks a lot Sherlock, you’re some friend.” John stormed out leaving a very unhappy consulting detective behind, his hands still trembling weakly from his migraine. 

Sherlock deleted his list. He found his hard-copy with all the question marks and happy faces and crumpled it into a tight ball, tossing it into the bin. It was pointless. John would never sleep with Sherlock. Somehow things had gone from sailing smoothly along to being as horrid as they could get. Mrs. Hudson tutted in, “Having a bit of a domestic? He’s been ever so worried about you Sherlock.”

“I was at Mycroft’s Mrs. Hudson, you can verify it with my brother. Please excuse me, I haven’t been well.” Sherlock was swaying on his feet and Mrs. Hudson tutted again.

“Oh you are just done in, and John shouted at you! Oh he’s going to feel awful when he finds out!”

“No. Don’t say a word. John doesn’t need to know I’ve been ill. He’ll just worry.” No he wouldn’t but Mrs. Hudson believed. She made Sherlock toast and tea, leaving him in blessed silence after.

Sherlock slept the day away and hid in his room for the hour John was home after work. When John left, stomping rather angrily, Sherlock crept out, showered, shaved, dressed in his best once more and went to the play. He sat in his box alone and could have wept for the way his body continued to betray him by reacting. He wanted John so badly now. Sherlock knew it would never happen and just as the curtain fell for the night Sherlock’s heart began to ache again along with everything else.

Sherlock took a deep breath, tidied himself up and went backstage. He tried to smile at the other players but all of them were giving him dirty looks. John was very solemn when Sherlock finally approached him, “Why’d you bother coming Sherlock?”

Sherlock left without saying a thing. His chest hurt. His lungs ached. His hands trembled. John had sounded so cold. What was going on? Sherlock went home and after he changed into regular clothes he tried to play his violin but he broke a string and cut his finger badly on the wire. It refused to stop bleeding so Sherlock sighed and took himself to emergency to have it stitched.

He smelled perfume in the flat when he got home and heard a womanly giggle coming from John’s room. Sherlock turned on his heel so sharply he got dizzy and left Baker Street to roam London once again.

It rained. Sherlock was soaked and he didn’t care. His head hurt again and he didn’t care. His body cried out for food and he didn’t care. There was nothing to care for. He was not worth caring about. Sherlock shambled onward steadily, not caring about where he was going, just that he kept moving.

Mycroft picked him up many hours later. Sherlock said nothing, just letting Mycroft bring him back to his townhouse to wash up and go to bed. Sherlock stayed away from Baker Street until he was sure John was gone for the evening. He crept home and went to bed but all he could smell was John and it was driving him insane. Hopelessly Sherlock dressed himself again and went to the play. He made no effort to go backstage after it was done. He wasn’t wanted there, that much was obvious.

Sherlock roamed again. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go back and hear John with someone else. Something very different was happening and Sherlock really didn’t understand it but it was beginning to physically affect him. He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d had a full meal for one. John always made sure Sherlock ate regularly but John wasn’t doing that anymore. Sherlock decided it wasn’t important. He’d eat when he felt hungry.

It rained and Sherlock got soaked one more time. Delirious he made his way mindlessly back to Baker Street. John was there, “What the fuck are you on Sherlock? Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck is wrong with you? You know what? Just go to your room and sleep this off. I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

Sherlock made it to his room. He managed to pull his mobile out, “’Croft? Sick. M’sick. John hates me.” he hung up and lay there soaking wet and burning up. Sometime later there were angry voices. Sherlock wasn’t rational anymore. His fever burned too hot. He heard Mycroft close by and he sounded furious, “What have you been doing to him John Watson? My brother has been a complete wreck for days now! Why is he wandering the streets instead of staying at home? Why has he managed to become so weak and ill when he lives with a DOCTOR?” Sherlock felt himself being lifted out of the bed, Mycroft’s voice was cold and condemning, “You are this man’s only friend. I weep for the choice he made in you.”

Mycroft carried Sherlock away himself. The detective woke in his room at his brother’s house and saw his violin and his skull waiting for him on the dresser. Sherlock still felt so weak and he knew he was still feverish. A tall glass of water with a straw was waiting for him. He managed to sip it all down before collapsing into sleep again.

Doctors who weren’t John came and went but Sherlock didn’t react. His fever came and refused to leave completely for days; when he finally woke he found he’d been given a line to stay hydrated. Sherlock saw that his wrists were bonier than ever and when he ran his hands down his sides he could feel his ribs. It was obvious he’d been ill for a while. Mycroft came in, “Awake? I’ll have a meal prepared. You need to eat.”

Sherlock lay there staring out the window until soup and fresh bread arrived. Mycroft wouldn’t leave until he ate it all. “John thinks I’m a freak.”

Mycroft looked over and Sherlock saw Mycroft’s jaw tense, “He called you this?”

“No. The other players did. He must have told them.” Sherlock was breaking inside. John was the only person apart from Mycroft and Anthea who had never once called Sherlock a freak. His eyes burned and tears filled them despite his efforts to stay the flood, “He was my best friend. My only friend, I can’t stay there right now.”

“Of course Sherlock, you may remain here for as long as you require, as always.” Mycroft stood and looked down at his brother with uncommon gentleness, “I have never turned you away Sherlock. I will not do so now.”

Sherlock stayed in his room for two full weeks, never emerging to do more than shower or eat. He didn’t play his violin which remained untouched on the table along with his skull. Sherlock sat by the window and missed John so much he finally whispered to himself, “I love you John.”

The dam inside broke and Sherlock felt tears spill down his cheeks again. He loved John, that’s why his chest hurt, and his heart hurt, and why his body hurt so much. He loved John and Sherlock knew down to his aching bones that John did not love him back. The tears would not stop.

Sherlock wanted to say goodbye to John. On the last night of the show, Sherlock dressed himself in his finest suit which hung loosely on him, pulled on his Belstaff which weighed a little too much for his invalid’s legs to handle for long and went to watch John perform one last time. Sherlock wasn’t sure but he thought John glanced up at him. The doctor was as magnificent on the last night as he had been on the first but Sherlock’s body did not stir. Sherlock stood and applauded with everyone else before disappearing into the crowd.

Later that night Sherlock sat at his new desk, his laptop humming in front of him. He was searching the 'net for answers again. It was depressing. He made a new list.

1) Try not to think about him: According to all the advice columns Sherlock had to get John out of his head. Sherlock was reluctant to delete John from his mind palace. Perhaps he could pack John away into his own room and just lock the door forever. That way Sherlock would always have a bit of John, if not the actual John himself.

2) Avoid him: Sherlock ticked this one off. As far as he knew John had made no attempts of any sort to get in touch with him. That was fine, it was all fine.

3) Cry: Sherlock had done that and resolved to not do it again. He’d had trouble stopping once he’d started, no more!

4) Memories: Sherlock had all of them in his head of course but perhaps he could sneak back to Baker Street to get a memento of some sort, maybe one of John’s old school-books, or maybe one of his bullets for the Sig. That would be a perfect keepsake actually. He’d do that sometime soon. Sherlock made a note.

5) Go out with your friends and have some fun: How would going out to have fun with John help anything? Sherlock put a big question mark on this one because it seemed to contravene all the previous suggestions.

6) Smile: Sherlock didn’t think he could and he just crossed it off as irrelevant. He hadn’t smiled much before he’d met John anyway.

7) Beauty counts: Sherlock sniffed at this inanity. His illness had left his cheekbones more prominent than ever and he looked almost waif-like when he was fully dressed. Some might think Sherlock ethereal instead of skeletal.

8) Listen to music: Sherlock could hardly bear to listen to music right now. All of it reminded him of John and the hours Sherlock played his violin for him.

9) Find someone to talk to about it. Possibly a close friend or family member: Sherlock made a face. The only ones who qualified were either Mycroft or Lestrade. Sherlock sent a text off to Greg asking to meet him for drinks at Mycroft’s. Greg’s answer wasn’t instantaneous but it was fairly quick, “Can stop by at 6. See you then.” So, Lestrade would be coming directly from work. Sherlock had a word with the staff and they made sure enough dinner would be available to offer the DI. 

Sherlock had reached the very depths of depression by this point. He was giving up on John, walking away from their friendship and 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock felt so very hollow, like a shell. He was going to close his browser window when an old phrase caught his eye. “All’s fair in love and war.”

For some reason this single line changed Sherlock’s entire attitude. Love WASN’T fair! All the old stories said so! So what if Janet was trying to poach John, or that the other players didn’t like Sherlock, or (Sherlock teared up heavily but wouldn’t admit it) if John thought he was a freak. Sherlock loved John. He couldn’t give John up, not really. Sitting back down and feeling horrible but determined Sherlock searched the ‘net again to reformulate his strategy to win John, not only to his bed as originally planned, but to his side forever. Sherlock bent his head and began to plan all over again.


	3. Casuistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has had a dark patch he needed to get through but all he needed was a single grain of hope to pick his quest back up and continue.

Sherlock read all night once more, discarding ideas constantly as he went over ideas obsessively. None of those lists were even remotely useful; all of them lacked the focus he required. John Watson was no ordinary man after all! He was a soldier, a doctor, and unfortunately, so straight you could use him as a ruler. Sherlock decided he would worry about Janet later. He could ruin her day at will; he didn’t need to plan for it.

Greg called and confirmed their plan to visit one another, “Mycroft got hold of me and told me you’d gotten ill.” Lestrade really was remarkable in his own way. He’d come to Sherlock’s aid so many times, in the beginning, Lestrade hadn’t even known who Sherlock was. He was just another junkie strung out in a flop house. Lestrade had never once treated him like one though, just picked Sherlock up, found out about Mycroft and from then on had always managed to be around whenever Sherlock was feeling jittery. It was his idea to begin consulting with the Yard.

They met at Mycroft’s townhouse where Greg seemed suspiciously at ease, “Do you visit here often?” asked Sherlock after looking Lestrade over and reading how relaxed he was.

“All the time, Mycroft and I have been friends for years now. Kind of hard not to get to know one another, what with you being you,” Sherlock’s face twitched into an involuntary smile which Greg returned, “That’s not why I’m here today though, what’s going on with you and John? You know he’s gone completely around the bend since you’ve been away.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “I know nothing of the sort. I haven’t even seen John in weeks.” Not one word, not one text, not one anything. No John, not a crumb.

“Yeah I know that, he checks in with me about twenty times a day to see if I’ve seen you yet.” Sherlock looked at Lestrade whose face was filled with concern as well as curiosity, “Tell me what’s going on Sherlock, go on.”

Sherlock didn’t know where to begin or what was appropriate to share with Lestrade so he sat there, wordless. At long last Sherlock heaved a great sigh and just confessed, “I’ve been given to understand that my friendship with John is on questionable grounds, to the point in fact that I am no longer comfortable being at Baker Street, however, I have recently resolved to return and to try and sort the matter out.”

“Okay that sounds like a start but how did this all happen? You and John, the pair of you have always managed to get on.” Greg still looked concerned.

“I forced John to join a community play as the lead, things went rather downhill once he began.” Sherlock swallowed, unwilling to tell Lestrade about John’s beard, or John’s voice, or the way John’s body could make Sherlock want to stop breathing. His heart thumped painfully and his chest began to ache again.

“Wait, that was the art community case right? You solved that right away though, what, was John mad at you for that? He seemed pretty tired all the time.” Well John’s temper did fray quickly when he was tired, that was true enough.

“John made a promise to the play group and as a man of honor of course he continued. I did try to help but there seemed to be a lot of misunderstandings along the way.” Sherlock looked down at his plate.

“What kind of misunderstandings?” Another dam broke and Sherlock told Lestrade about trying to shop, and making John’s lunches, and Janet, the words he’d heard at the theater, and John’s reactions to everything. “Bloody hell! Well no wonder John’s had his knickers in a twist! Okay Sherlock, all I’m going to say is that you and John need to see one another, the sooner the better alright? Trust me on this. Tonight if you can manage. In fact,” Lestrade took out his mobile and tapped in a text, “There, he’d better answer me.”

Lestrade’s mobile dinged almost immediately, “See? He’s on his way.”

Sherlock felt sick. John was coming right away? His plans weren’t ready! He hadn’t finished his research. Sherlock wasn’t prepared to see John, no matter how desperately he missed him. Greg forced Sherlock to swallow down his now unwanted meal while they waited, each bite like a stone in Sherlock’s belly as the anxiety he was now familiar with began to climb.

Sherlock started when the doorbell rang only twenty minutes later. John must have already been on the street to find a taxi that quickly. Greg went to the door to answer and Sherlock nearly ran to his room to hide. He stood in the den awkwardly instead.

A clean-shaven John came in and stood at the entrance, just looking at Sherlock. Greg was nowhere to be seen and John’s face was becoming more and more distressed the longer he stood there, “Sherlock.” the doctor’s voice sounded pained, “Oh god Sherlock, look at you. You’ve been really ill. Why didn’t you call me to come see you?”

“You think I’ve been using drugs.” John’s face filled with chagrin and shame, “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s alright John. Mycroft looked after me.”

Sherlock couldn’t stand anymore and sank onto the sofa. John came right over and sat next to him, “Sherlock, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a rotten friend ever since that play started. You’re right. I assumed the worst and didn’t bother allowing you the chance to explain the situation!”

“It’s alright John, I’ve told you it doesn’t matter.”

“It bloody well DOES matter! My god Sherlock! You’re my best friend, I’ve treated you terribly! You were so sick and I was such an ass you were forced to turn to MYCROFT! I should have at least checked you over to make sure you were alright. You…oh god...you were still sick when you came to the play and I was such a prick when you came backstage! Oh fucking hell Sherlock, no wonder Mycroft won’t let me near you!”

“Perhaps he was protecting you from the freak show.” said Sherlock softly. He couldn’t be here. His chest was aching worse than ever and his hands were beginning to shake once more.

There was a pained inhalation as John drew breath and released it shakily, but his voice was fierce and steady when he answered, “You’re not a freak Sherlock, never once have I ever thought that. You are the most amazing person I know.”

“Don’t John. I know your opinion of me. Your new friends have been painted a very clear picture by you and I see it very well.” Sherlock’s heart hurt so badly now he was becoming concerned. Perhaps he should call Mycroft. He stood instead, “John there’s no need for all of this. I will leave Baker Street very soon, you can live with who you like, and I won’t try to interfere with your life any longer.”

John looked appalled, “You’re leaving me?” What was John talking about?

“I’m leaving Baker Street, yes. It seems the best choice.”

“No Sherlock, no! Why?” now John’s voice was thick and filled with misery.

“Why would I wish to stay John? I will miss Mrs. Hudson of course but I will still visit her.” Sherlock was trying to remain calm and reasonable but John wasn’t making it easy.

John was staring at Sherlock with anguish on his face. The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a square of paper that was rumpled, clearly having been smoothed out carefully, “What about this then?” John had Sherlock’s list with all the question marks and happy faces and little hearts. Why did John have this? He would have had to dig it out of the bin! The doctor’s voice was shaky when he read, “1) Be confident.” John looked up at Sherlock, “You make me stronger Sherlock, every single day. I need that.”

John went through the whole list while Sherlock sat again and listened, stunned and unsure:

2) Smile: “I was so unhappy when we first met Sherlock. After that though, I wasn’t unhappy anymore even when you made me cranky. You made my life so much better and I don’t think I thanked you for that. I smile all the time now because of you. Thanks.”

3) Place Yourself In His Path: “You were just trying to hang around with me and I pushed you away like a jerk over and over again. I’m so sorry Sherlock, that wasn’t right of me.”

4) Play it Cool: “I didn’t really understand this one either so I guess I’ll just leave it the way it is.”

5) Make Him Laugh: John looked teary when he read this one out, “You make me laugh so much Sherlock, always at the worst things but that’s what’s great about it. We laugh at the same wrong things and I miss it.”

6) Be Nice To His Friends: “Don’t do that. None of them would know what was going on. Everyone is used to your ways, never change.”

7) Use the "3 strikes and you're out” rule: John was pensive after he read this one out and he looked up at Sherlock, “How many strikes do I have left?” but didn’t wait for Sherlock to respond before he moved along.

8) Have a Successful First Date: John smiled a bit and looked at Sherlock almost shyly, “That first night at Angelo’s, I know it wasn’t a proper date but it was still the best one I’d ever been on.” Sherlock blushed and looked down at his feet. He felt the same way.

9) Pay Attention to his Interests: “No one knows more about what I like than you do Sherlock, no one.”

10) Don’t Take Him for Granted: “I do don’t I? All the time, I take it for granted that things don’t bother you, I take it for granted that you’ll be alright on your own, I take it for granted just being able to live with you and I shouldn’t because it’s a rare gift that no one else gets, just me.”

11) Maintain Some Space: “This is what you were trying to do for me, give me space because of the things you thought. Oh god Sherlock, I wish I’d just talked to you instead!”

12) Decide if he’s Truly Worth It: John’s hands were shaking here and his eyes almost burned when he looked at Sherlock, “Of course you are! No one is more worth it than you Sherlock, god, how can you ever think otherwise?”

13) Tell Him How You Feel: John fell silent here and his hands continued to tremble. His thumb stroked over the small inked heart on the bottom of the page, “I guess this is really what it boils down to. Well, I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose now, I’m losing it all anyway.”

“What do you mean John?” Sherlock was tense and anxious. Listening to John read his list out and answer each point was making him feel strange inside again.

“I mean that I have to tell you even if I think it might be the worst thing in the world to do, I’m already too late I think but….fuck, you’re leaving Baker Street and I might not…..Sherlock.” John’s shoulders were bowed and he looked absolutely miserable for a moment. He sniffed, sat up straight, put his hands on his knees and looked right into Sherlock’s eyes. “I love you.”

It was a lightning bolt moment when Sherlock suddenly realized he must still be ill and therefore hallucinating so he barely reacted, “Why do you say that?” His hallucinations had always had such lucid quality but this one was one of the best. It must be because Sherlock recalled every single bit of John Watson and that knowledge allowed his imagination to fly free. He really missed him!

John looked utterly confused, “I say it because I mean it. I love you Sherlock and these last few weeks have been the very worst of my life! I didn’t know where you were or how you were, Mycroft wouldn’t tell me a word and Greg didn’t seem to know anything. No one has seen you for ages and Mrs. Hudson actually shouted at me and called me a blockhead but she wouldn’t say why!”

Sherlock was still hallucinating so it was fine that he told Hallucination John the truth, “I love you too John. I’ve been terribly upset by everything. I wish you weren’t dating Janet. She ate my dinner. Your beard was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.” John looked even more confused at the almost dreamy quality to Sherlock’s voice. Sherlock sat there and blatantly admired the golden fiction sitting beside him, confusion really suited John. It made him seem even more adorable than usual. “I guess when I wake up I’ll have to call you and tell you I’m moving out but I’m really not looking forward to it. It’s possibly the worst call I’ll ever have to make and you won’t even know it. You’ll probably be with Janet anyway so at least you’ll be distracted. That might be best. I’ll miss you of course but I don’t think I’ll tell you I’m leaving directly to your face. You’ll make a fuss purely out of habit and I don’t want that.”

“Sherlock, are you feeling alright?” the hallucination was very concerned looking and Sherlock was so touched by it, even if it was a lie being projected by his mind.

“No John, I’m very ill. It’s alright though, Mycroft’s doctors say I’m better but I don’t think so.” Sherlock felt very pleasant. This hallucination was very fine, he could even smell John!

“Why do you think I’m dating Janet?”

“She implied that she made the lunches when you said she was flirting. You brought her home more than once, you gave her the special dinner I cooked for you despite the fact there were clearly two plates waiting and there were two of us living there. She was at the theater one of the nights I tried to come backstage and I heard her in your room as well. I suppose you could just be getting a leg over but you don’t normally go for seeing someone more than once if you’re just getting off casually, hence, you are dating Janet.” Hallucination John was breathing roughly and he looked ready to cry. Sherlock felt a bit strange asking a figment if it was alright but he did.

“No I’m not bloody alright. What I’m hearing right now is proof that I am the most horrible of people! Sherlock…pay attention Sherlock, well, keep listening anyway, Sherlock, I wasn’t dating Janet. I mean yes, she came over for dinner and yes we ate it all. I’m so sorry for that now that I know. I’m just sick to…well, Janet came over but not for me, she wanted to meet you. I tried to tell her that…well, you’re gay right? She didn’t care because she’s a fan, an amateur detective she calls herself. She asked for an introduction and I, um…”

“You wanted to introduce me to a woman?” Sherlock was very confused. Why would anyone want to do that?

“Well no, but we made a bet. If you showed up at the clinic within a certain amount of time I had to introduce you two properly so I agreed. I figured if I lost you would just do that thing you do and she would leave in tears. You showed up right as her time was running out…I suppose she knew you’d bring me lunch. I was so mad that she’d won and I yelled at you instead. OH GOD I’M SUCH AN ASS!”

“I was there for dinner and you said nothing.”

John covered his face with his hands for a moment, “She asked if we were dating. I said no and then Janet decided to ask you out. She was waiting for me to leave so she could. I didn’t.” John had acted like he was flirting with Janet, hadn’t he? He was terribly friendly and sometimes it was difficult to tell. Sherlock needed to rethink that whole time period when he was lucid again.

“Mrs. Hudson helped me with parts of the meal.” said Sherlock, still feeling a bit strange about where his hallucination was going with this topic.

“Oh god! No wonder she called me a blockhead!” Hallucination John’s face crumpled up and he looked filled with self-loathing. “I was harsh with you so many times and I was so wrong in every instance! I bungled everything as much as possible without even trying.”

“Janet was there that one night. I went to my room.” 

“I knocked on your door for five minutes Sherlock! Why didn’t you open it?”

“Oh. I had my headphones on.” and he’d locked himself in his mind palace trying to find something to occupy him while he thought John and Janet were having sex.

“What about the woman in your room?” Sherlock had DEFINITELY heard a woman moan in John’s room and there had been traces of perfume in the flat. Hallucination John turned an interesting shade of red.

“There wasn’t a woman. I was watching a video.” John was scarlet now, “Porn. You know. Wanking.”

Well John did do that a lot. Sherlock had kept track for a while but after a couple of months he had stopped because of the frequency, “The perfume?”

“Mrs. Hudson had Mrs. Turner come over to look at the wallpaper. She might have a matching roll in her attic.” Now that Sherlock thought on it the wisp of perfume did have the scent profile favored by women in Mrs. Turner’s demographic. “I was so angry with you. I thought you were using drugs again and I felt so betrayed. You promised me you wouldn’t and you didn’t did you? Or did I make your life so awful that it happened anyway? Was that why you got sick? Did I do this?”

“I bought drugs but Mycroft took them away,” Sherlock didn’t know what else to say because the answer was complicated. “Then I got soaked and chilled, I hadn’t apparently eaten enough in some time and I became feverish. I don’t really remember now. You’d have to ask Mycroft.”

Mycroft who had carried Sherlock out of the flat while he was unconscious. Hallucination John had tears in his eyes but a serious expression on his face, “I hate myself. Mycroft was kinder than he needed to be when he told me off that night. I’ve been so awful, the worst friend ever. I can’t even call you a friend, how can I? I’m a monster. Sherlock, I don’t know how you can ever forgive me for the hell I put you through. I’m so sorry.”

“Someone called me a freak at the playhouse.” said Sherlock softly and now Hallucination John looked furious.

“That was Jason and he’s a prick. He calls everyone that but that didn’t stop me from blacking his eye. He wears a mask for the play anyway so I didn’t get into too much trouble.” John had struck someone for calling Sherlock that name? Suddenly Sherlock felt warm inside. That did sound like John. He was very aggressive when he got protective. It was one of Sherlock’s favorite things about him. Sherlock had a list somewhere of all the unnecessary injuries various criminals sustained thanks to John’s temper.

“I hope I never wake up.” said Sherlock with a smile. He was feeling very happy. This was the best hallucination ever. If he was lucky maybe he was in a coma and he’d be stuck in this dream for years! That would be marvelous. Sherlock smiled at Hallucination John warmly even though the figment still looked wretched and downright miserable.

John looked soberly at him, “Sherlock, you’re not dreaming. This is really happening.”

“That sounds exactly like something the real John would say.” said Sherlock happily. This figment was excellent! He congratulated himself on the efficacy of his mind palace; he really had all the small details nailed!

“I am the real John. Sherlock! Sherlock? Do you believe you’re dreaming?”

“Of course I’m dreaming! John is not gay, there’s ample proof of that, and even if he was why in the world would he lower himself to be in love with an ex-junkie train-wreck with a sociopathic personality and other assorted problems? He wouldn’t, I’m not worth it. Ask anyone. If they know me, they’ll tell you I’m right. Well, if they can see you they’d tell you.” Sherlock giggled to himself. The figment was really very lovely, but then of course it would be. It looked just like John.

John looked ill now and stood rapidly. “I’ll be right back.” he said hoarsely. The figment left the room and normality returned. Sherlock sat back and enjoyed the memories of the delusion. It was all lies of course but such beautiful ones.

Greg came in. “Ah Lestrade, I think we need to call Mycroft. I’m still sick.”

“You’re not sick, at least, no more than usual you idiot. John is really here. He was talking to you with his real face using his real brain and his actual mouth. It’s really John.” Sherlock paled and sat back. His eyes darted around. He knew Lestrade well, but not as well as John. Sherlock stared at him, noting two blemishes on his face he didn’t recall as well as a coffee stain that was too boring to be imagined. It had to be real.

“Oh my god I told him I loved him.” said Sherlock with horror.

John walked in, “Well good because I said it first, I hope you remember that!” Sherlock took a long look at John and fainted.

He woke up in his room, his skull and violin now waiting by the door instead of on the table where they’d been all this time. John was snoring in a chair clutching a sheet of paper. “John?”

The doctor woke with a snort and sat up, “Sherlock? Are you okay? How do you feel? Can you sit up?”

“I was walking around not too long ago, I think I can manage sitting up.” snapped Sherlock. He was entirely embarrassed now. What John must think of him for fainting like a fairy-tale character!

John looked at the clock. “You’ve been out for about two hours now.” He stood, stretched and came over to the bed. “I’d like to check your vitals if that’s alright?” John didn’t normally ask. Normally he just grabbed Sherlock’s wrist or peeled back his eyelids while scolding him. Sherlock held out his arm and felt his heart race as John’s fingers settled on his wrist. “A bit fast but I think you’re alright.”

John didn’t let go of Sherlock’s wrist exactly, instead he slid his hand down and very deliberately held Sherlock’s. “I’d like to try something.” he said seriously. Sherlock nodded, nervous for some reason. John handed over the paper he’d been holding, “I made a list for us. It’s not like yours but I hope it works.”

Sherlock read it over and bit his lip at the first entry:

1) Make sure we tell each other we love one another at least once a day.

2) Date Nights are always going to be Saturday. Don’t make other plans.

3) Can we think about sharing a room? I know it’s early.

4) Hand holding – for or against?

5) Little moments matter. Let’s make sure we appreciate them together.

6) Always remember I never get tired of being with you. It makes me happy.

7) I have PTSD – don’t try to romantically surprise me in my sleep; I don’t want to accidentally break your arm.

8) I want to be with you forever if that’s alright.

“Your list is much better than mine.” said Sherlock with a rough low voice. He was so moved. This list was possibly the most romantic thing he’d ever come across and he’d done research into romantic literature for a case more than once. “John, are you sure….”

“I’m sure. I’m so sure. I’ve never been more certain of something. Sherlock, I know I love you and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know that you love me too. I swear I’m going to do absolutely everything I can to make up for the last while. It’s all entirely my fault you were so miserable and I just hate myself for it.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. This was perhaps his weakest area when it came to human interaction, “John I would like you to kiss me.”

A crooked grin spread across the shorter man’s face, “Yeah? I think I’d like that too.” John stepped closer and suddenly Sherlock was very nervous. Was his breath fresh? What about his face? He’d just woke up. Did he have gross eye crusts now? He hadn’t even checked and suddenly he was regretting asking at all. John just came up, tilted Sherlock’s head back and made the entire universe disappear.

Reality took a long time to return and when Sherlock opened his eyes again John’s face was right next to his and he looked almost foolishly happy, “Let’s go home Sherlock.” Sherlock nodded and John got up, handed Sherlock his skull, picked up his violin with one hand and took Sherlock’s hand with the other. Another huge smile and John beamed up at the detective, “Back to Baker Street.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't keep them apart....next installment, romancing the doctor <3


	4. Bumps In The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John sorted out their misunderstandings and have returned to Baker Street.

Once they were back in Baker Street Sherlock got shy and hid in his room while John puttered around making tea and laying out biscuits for a snack. When Sherlock felt a bit more composed he went out front and joined John on the sofa. John was being very solicitous and Sherlock liked it very much. The doctor had fixed his tea perfect as always, had served them Jammy Dodgers which were Sherlock’s absolute favorites, but what was best was when John shifted himself ever so slightly closer than normal and allowed their thighs to press together.

Oh John’s leg was so warm. The heat of it soaked into Sherlock’s and made him feel languorous. John’s hand crept over and fit itself inside Sherlock’s and both men had little smiles on their faces as they sipped their tea. Sherlock took a deep mental breath, reached over and put his arm around John’s shoulder, flushing heavily as he worried that this was too odd, or that John perhaps wouldn’t like being held like he was a comfort toy.

John sagged right up against Sherlock and with a small thump landed his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh!” murmured Sherlock with pleased surprise. This was very nice! John’s body was exactly the right size to fit neatly against Sherlock’s side without either man being uncomfortable. Sherlock felt a bit out of his depth already though. He hadn’t spent a moment of time actually looking up dating at all. He’d been too busy moping. Sherlock didn’t know how to proceed.

He also fell asleep.

Sherlock woke up alone on the sofa, though John had fetched a warm blanket and had managed to get one of Sherlock’s own pillows under his head. Sherlock felt a bit bad about falling asleep but then he had been very ill and wearied easily. He looked at the clock, it was still very early in the morning but John had clearly gone to bed some time ago. Sherlock was torn.

Would John mind if Sherlock crept into bed with him? John was rather…well waking him up suddenly was NOT an option. John was a soldier after all and a bit prone to defending himself excessively while he slumbered. John had made a very specific notation on his list. It was a conundrum for certain but Sherlock was good at puzzles so he worked it out. Creeping up the stairs Sherlock settled himself outside John’s door, feeling a little badly but knowing it was inevitable, and waited.

He’d made many observations about John Watson in the time he’d known him and there were some things that were constants about the man. He was practical, frugal, organized, stubborn, efficiently dangerous, and he had regularly scheduled horrific dreams, so Sherlock waited for it to begin. It was never pleasant but it also wasn’t the first time Sherlock had listened to John’s soft distressed whimpers and sobs. He could barely manage to keep himself in the corridor, clutching at his curls as John’s cries grew louder until a loud shout heralded his return to this reality. Knowing John suffered a bit of time loss when he did recall his nightmares Sherlock didn’t need to wait an instant longer. He went in.

Curling up to John Sherlock was gratified to find himself held tightly and gratefully as John buried his face against Sherlock’s chest and forced himself to breathe slower and slower. Sherlock stroked his back and ran his fingers through John’s hair, comforting him silently until John slipped back into sleep. Kissing the smaller man’s hair several times Sherlock tugged the blanket up around John neatly, fixed the pillow a bit so they were both comfortable, closed his eyes and drifted right off.

He awoke alone in bed at lunchtime having slept for nearly eight additional hours. Astounding! John was at work and wouldn’t be home for hours yet so Sherlock set to work. He had things almost sorted with John but that didn’t mean that Sherlock should just stop trying! Fixing himself some second-rate tea Sherlock sat himself down and used his own laptop for once, searching the ‘net once again for advice.

A lot of it seemed to involve taking John places and doing things with him, things that Sherlock didn’t want to do. Where would he find a corn maze anyway and why would anyone want to walk through one? A museum trip though, John liked museums nearly as much as Sherlock did so he noted that suggestion.

Most of the other advice columns mentioned food too. Sherlock was leery about that because of what had happened last time but he WAS a scientist and didn’t stay discouraged for long. He’d create a fabulous meal sometime soon, something that would eclipse Sherlock’s original attempt to woo John through food. For now he made a long list of restaurants to review before he decided to take John there.

Sherlock gagged at the idea of going to an amusement park with John, and wrinkled his nose at the idea of going to an arcade. Who wrote these articles anyway? Teens? Sherlock shut that window down completely and revised his search. Lots of pages recommended something physical, like some kind of two person sport, bowling perhaps. Sherlock shuddered. It would never happen. OTHER PEOPLE WORE THOSE SHOES! The game itself looked intriguing and Sherlock admitted privately to himself that if he owned his own bowling shoes he might give that idea a go. He moved along.

Now this was interesting. Many pages also recommending some kind of drinking oriented activity, wine tasting or micro-brewery pubs. John did like to go to pubs, and Sherlock didn’t mind a pint every now and then. He put that on the list too.

Dancing, that was a thinker. Sherlock knew how to dance of course but he was pretty sure John had never seen him do so. The detective spent a lot of time in strange places and had a cadre of skills at his disposal, going to clubs was sometimes an excellent way of gathering data. Maybe John would like to go dancing one night? Sherlock was unsure because John was staid in his own particular way and Sherlock was having a difficult time envisioning John on the floor and dancing to modern music. It was harder still to imagine John being proficient with the old dances either. Still, it went on the list.

Horse-back riding came up dozens of times. Sherlock could not picture John on a horse. He himself had a beautiful seat, Sherlock and Mycroft had ridden extensively as youth but John had probably only seen horses from a distance. Sherlock wavered and reluctantly put it on his list. He’d ask John.

A spa? Maybe. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he wanted a stranger to rub him all over but nearly every advice page he looked at recommended it. Sherlock forgot all about the spa when he found the perfect list:

1) Uttering a well-placed whisper. Oh, Sherlock’s voice was a particular weakness of the doctor’s. This was a lovely suggestion. Now Sherlock just needed an opportunity to try this out.

2) Send a sizzling text message. Should be simple enough to engineer, after all, text messages were practically made for innuendo.

3) Shoot him your hottest photo. Hmm. Sherlock had to think about this. He did have a camera stand. It wouldn’t take terribly long to take some appropriate photos and perhaps some inappropriate ones. He’d shower and shave first.

4) View a strategically chosen movie or TV episode. John did adore a ghastly array of shows on the telly, following some of them obsessively and constantly traded pop culture jokes with people like Lestrade. Well, for love Sherlock was willing to give it a go as well. He’d review the available selections and find something suitable for seducing an ex-army doctor.

5) Shop for something scandalous. John didn’t seem to show any kind of reaction to Sherlock when he was dressed up. In fact the good doctor seemed to prefer Sherlock when he was trailing around their flat wearing his ratty pajama pants and his well-worn robe. This one required some thought but it would have to be later because John was due home soon! Where had the hours gone?

Sherlock went to the shops and looked around until he found something he could work with. Returning to the flat he began to cook, utilizing all his scientific skills to make sure everything was just so, remembering with crystal clarity everything Mrs. Hudson had taught him and soon the flat was filled with mouth-watering scents. Once everything was safely in the oven Sherlock retreated to the shower and emerged a short time later buffed clean and shaved smooth. Setting up his tripod he thought for a bit before taking a series of photos of himself wearing various things, and in one or two shots, nothing at all. He’d tailor them to appropriate messages as needed. Putting it all away Sherlock dressed in a suit, the aubergine shirt that John’s eyes glazed over for, and a pair of modestly fitted slacks.

Lestrade texted. Sherlock ignored it. He had things to do. John would be home soon so Sherlock raced around the flat tidying up and making everything as romantic as he could manage. Lestrade texted again but Sherlock just put his phone on mute and continued ignoring him. Crime would be there tomorrow.

He heard the doctor on the stairs at long last. Flushed and excited Sherlock sat himself in his chair, thinking about posing perhaps but at the last minute just decided to open the paper and pretend to read. John walked in, “It smells amazing in here. I could smell it from the street! What is that?”

Sherlock lowered the paper with a pleased smile, “I tried to make a roast dinner. I’m not sure of the results but it at least looks alright.” John had a huge smile on, “You like?”

“Of course, who doesn’t like to come home to lovely hot meal?” John came over and kissed Sherlock hard. It was working! Food preparation was going on Sherlock’s permanent list! Sherlock let John have time to freshen up and then sat him at the dinner table with a bottle of wine to go with their meal. It was delicious and delightful. Both men fell into conversation easily, laughing over their glasses as John fed Sherlock tidbits about his clients and Sherlock deduced things about them without needing more information.

The next phase of Sherlock’s plan was to steer John toward one of the more suggestive movies they had, not that there was much. John’s rom-com collection was made up of gifts from ex-girlfriends and Harry. It was getting late into the evening now that they’d washed up and put away the left-overs. John was lazy and happy, instead flipping channels until he came across a documentary about bees that Sherlock actually found interesting. He watched raptly the entire show, and when it was done he turned to John with a seductive smile.

John was fast asleep and apparently had been for some time. Sherlock tried not to feel disappointed though he was. After all, he’d fallen asleep on John just yesterday. These things obviously happened. With a huge sigh he got up carefully, tucked the Union Jack pillow under John’s head and carefully arranged the doctor so his bad shoulder wouldn’t be overly troubled. He got their shock blanket out and tucked John carefully in, making sure his feet were neatly enclosed and that no little drafts would trouble the man as he dozed.

Sherlock ran some experiments in the kitchen, quiet ones of course, and thought deeply. While things bubbled and stewed he fetched his laptop out and began to plan his next phase. John deserved to be wooed properly, even if they were already together. Sherlock wasn’t risking losing John just because he was inexperienced in love!

He reviewed his initial list. Sherlock pursed his lips; he should have tried to work in the whisper gambit. There had been several opportunities that he hadn’t even taken advantage of. Reminding himself to pay attention for his transport’s sake Sherlock disciplined his mind to soak in as much information about romance as he could before John woke. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he worked the night away, pausing only to take notes on his experiments and to get a large breakfast started when it got close to the hour when John would wake.

Sherlock heard John finally rise, having made extra sure he allowed John to sleep undisturbed right up to his alarm. The doctor shuffled into the bathroom and didn’t come out until he was showered and shaved. Still enrobed he came to the kitchen with a big smile, “It smells incredible again.”

Sherlock gave him fresh brewed coffee and sat him down to serve him, “I hope you enjoy it.” John did, making many appreciative sounds as Sherlock grinned and ate a bit with him. John required a large amount of food compared to Sherlock who ate as little as possible as slowly as he could.

After they finished John stood and gave Sherlock a breakfast flavored kiss which was very enjoyable. Sherlock nodded sagely to himself, this was working perfectly. Food was most certainly a successful tactic for gaining affection. John washed up and got himself ready for work while Sherlock puttered in the kitchen. He checked his mobile. Sixteen texts from Lestrade, “John, I’ve got a case.” He’d be done well before dinner was due and he could work on one of the suggestions on his list from anywhere.

“Oh, bugger. I’m heading to work.” John did love to solve cases. Sherlock must never forget his primary reason for not rejecting John to begin with.

“If it’s complicated you could meet me at the scene after work. I’ll keep you in touch.” John smiled, kissed a delighted Sherlock one more time in a very hearty manner and left. Sherlock was very pleased. Things were going so much better! In his mind palace was a great floating list with two items on it, solving cases and food, two sure fire ways to make John happy. Check.

The case was very interesting and Sherlock became entirely engrossed. He was all over the city, texting Lestrade from here and there as he put clues together, finally sussing out the location of the perpetrator and being part of the exciting chase at the end that landed a man in jail. Sherlock was chuffed and went back to Baker Street. He was exhausted.

John was waiting for him and Sherlock’s heart dropped. His eyes went right to the clock on their wall. It was eleven at night and he hadn’t texted John even once. Sherlock had forgotten. “Solved it did you.” asked John sharply and Sherlock nodded. “ Good. Excellent.” Each word was bitten out and Sherlock flinched.

“John I’m sorry…” he began but John gave him a look that stopped Sherlock right in his tracks.

“Don’t. Just don’t alright? I don’t even know why I’m upset. I should be used to being left behind.” John turned on his heel and walked away, clearly still very angry, and clearly very disappointed in Sherlock but unwilling to say more. “Greg sent me some messages telling me you were alright. He figured I’d want to know.”

Sherlock had never felt so horrible and tried to imagine what he would have felt like if he’d been waiting to hear from John and didn’t but then got a message from someone else instead. What if John couldn’t be bothered to tell Sherlock where he was or what he was up to anymore and Sherlock only ever got to hear about him by the grace of people like Donovan or Lestrade? It would be hell! “John. John I’m so sorry. I got distracted and then time just went by. I am sorry.”

“So am I Sherlock. I guess I just thought, well. You know what? It doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m heading to bed. Goodnight.” John left with no hugs, no kisses, no smiles. Sherlock stood there in the doorway still wearing his Belstaff and felt like a tremendous heel. Just this morning he’d made a special point about how John liked to help solve cases and then Sherlock had completely failed to include the man he loved in the chase. No wonder John was so upset. He wouldn’t want to make a big deal about it either because he probably thought Sherlock wouldn’t care to understand.

Sherlock ran up the stairs, “John, please, I am sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have called, I should have texted. I should have even told Lestrade to tell you where we were, I just didn’t think of it.”

John looked at Sherlock and if anything his apology made John look sadder, “That’s just it though isn’t it. I’m not even on your radar am I? Not when you’re doing the work. I don’t even exist then do I?” John looked away and shook his head, his lips tight and his jaw tense, “I’m just going to bed Sherlock. Good night.”

“No, we have to talk about this. I made you feel bad and I don’t like that! I need to fix it; I won’t be able to rest until you feel better. I know it! John! I am sorry, please, let me try and fix it somehow.” Sherlock’s voice was low and anxious.

John’s face smoothed out suddenly and he looked exhausted, “Listen, I’m tired. I accept your apology, I’m not mad anymore. I just want to sleep.”

Sherlock nodded, “Very well John. Thank you. I’ll try not to do that again.” Sherlock knew better than to promise that he wouldn’t. He’d spent his entire life filtering out extraneous information so he could focus on the facts of the matter. Sherlock would stumble again and he could only hope John would forgive him one more time.

John was now smiling gently at Sherlock, all traces of his anger completely gone, he looked, affectionate? “Come on, get your coat off. I left you some dinner. I’ll make some tea.” Sherlock felt his heart give a huge sigh of relief. John was amazing. Even angry he’d still made Sherlock dinner and kept it warm for him. Sherlock mentally re-visited his earlier lists which he’d kept in his mind palace and added “Not taking John for granted” back onto his permanent list.

John let Sherlock divest himself of his outerwear and made them both tea, “Tell me about the case.” he said, and he sounded interested. John listened carefully to the facts as Sherlock had observed them and nodded along as Sherlock spun out the series of events he’d teased from them. “Incredible! I wish I’d been there to see that.”

“You wanted to see a corpse tonight?” It had been an interesting one; some of those cuts had been quite inventive.

“No you git, I mean to see you. That’s the best part, watching you put everything together.” John’s earnest praise made Sherlock feel warm all over and he suddenly realized he was blushing from head to toe and tingling with pleasure. John seemed delighted. “Come on, you must know how much I love watching you work? It’s always incredible; I never get tired of seeing you do it.”

Oh John! What a treasure, Sherlock simply adored being adored by John. No one did it better. “I do regret not calling John, the game is always to my advantage with you at my side.” That was simple truth. John was astounding, his sometimes inane commentary triggering waves of pure comprehension that led to speedy resolutions of otherwise time-consuming work. “You are invaluable, I should never work without you.” That was pure truth too.

Now John was the one blushing hard and his eyes were bright and happy, “I’d like that, I’d like to be able to work with you all the time. It’s always the best.” It really was. When they worked a case together John and Sherlock always moved in perfect synchronicity. Their actions and reactions were mirrors of one another, they supported and challenged each other and it worked. Sherlock found he was smiling hugely, so he leaned in and whispered softly, “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Just sleep but John seemed to understand.

“I’d like that too.” John stood, “Come on, wash up. I’ll head up.”

Sherlock was all tingly again and his face was still flushed when he went to wash up and brush his teeth. Sherlock went to his room and pulled on a demure set of pajamas before padding barefoot up the single flight of stairs that led to John’s room. John was already under the covers and he’d scooted over so he was closer to the right, “I sleep on my side, do you mind taking the wall side?”

“No John, I actually prefer it.” Sherlock liked the idea of being boxed in like that. Anything that came for Sherlock would have to go through John first. He climbed in carefully and settled himself on the extra pillow that John had squeezed in for him. He wanted to move closer but Sherlock wasn’t sure what John was willing to accept.

He needn’t have worried. John simply lifted Sherlock’s arm and snugged himself up against Sherlock’s side, his head on his shoulder. With a huge sleepy yawn John muttered, “Night.” and fell asleep almost instantly.

Sherlock was enchanted. John was lovely when he slept. The darkness made the bit of light that came through John’s window catch in the silver of his hair and it was divine. Sherlock couldn’t sleep now. He was warm and comfortable and he had a sleeping John in his arms. He couldn’t miss this, Sherlock wanted to stay awake all night to watch John sleep. If John had bad dreams, Sherlock would already be present to sooth him. It was perfect. Carefully Sherlock pressed a small kiss to John’s forehead, “Thank you for being so understanding John.”

“Shut up. I’m sleeping.” Sherlock grinned. John was always a surprise. John kissed Sherlock’s chest, “You’re welcome. Seriously though, shut up.” Sherlock said not another word but kissed his soldier tenderly and let him sleep. Without intending Sherlock’s eyes grew heavy and he drifted off without trouble.

The next morning was rushed because Lestrade texted again only a few hours later. It was John’s day off and there was no way Sherlock was leaving his doctor behind again so they tore around the flat trying to get ready. Sherlock yanked on the first things that came to hand when he reached into his wardrobe and met John in the kitchen for a quick cup of tea and toast with jam. “Jesus Christ Sherlock, how does your shirt stay closed? What’s keeping your buttons on? Sheer force of will?”

“This shirt is bespoke John, the buttons are practically guaranteed not to give.” Perhaps Sherlock’s shirts were a bit fitted but he’d never once lost a button, not once.

John just rolled his eyes, “Sheer force of will, I’m telling you.”

“Guaranteed,” emphasized Sherlock, “Hurry up John, the game is on.” and with that both men tore out of 221 B Baker Street, both wearing eager grins and feeling happy. Sherlock and John were off together to once again do what they were simply born to do together. Solve the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the button thing is an inside joke....Ravenwolf36 understands.


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have sorted things out despite a stumble or two. The game is on!

The case was a mess the second they arrived. Anderson and Sherlock squared off the minute they were within ear-shot of one another and it took both Greg and John’s best efforts to separate the pair of them. “Why do you let him on-scene when you know I’m coming?” demanded Sherlock, disdain dripping from every syllable, “He’s completely incompetent unless Donovan is here and even then he manages to mess up the evidence.”

Donovan was mysteriously absent but the mere mention of her name was enough to drive the already frazzled Anderson spare and with a wordless shout the forensic specialist attacked Sherlock. They were down on the ground rolling around in the alley before anyone could react, John and Greg shouting at both of them to just quit already. Anderson got one cheap punch in, striking Sherlock right in the eye just as the taller man raised his arms to allow Greg to step between them. “ _YOU LITTLE SHIT_!” screamed John who then promptly returned the favor, dropping Anderson with a single blow in his wroth. Greg hadn’t been prepared to hold an unconscious man and so Anderson slithered out of his arms to lay face first in the filth.

John was furious. “That’s _it_ Lestrade! When that gutter-rat wakes up you tell him I’m pressing assault charges! I’m tired of Anderson and Donovan and their constant hatred! What the _fuck_ is wrong with your people? Have they no _professionalism_?” John looked like he was very tempted to draw his foot back and give Anderson a solid kick in the ribs but instead he went to Sherlock to inspect his rapidly coloring eye.

Sherlock was about to tell John he felt fine just fine but Donovan chose that ill-timed moment to show up and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, “You fucking freak! I knew it! I knew one day you’d cross the line! What did he do? Did he drug him? Trick him? What happened?”

Sherlock was very angry now, nearly as angry as John, “Your lover attacked _me_ Donovan, and punched me as well. John’s the one who knocked him out so try yelling at _him_ if you’re brave.”

Donovan took one look at John who was livid and stalking toward her with his fists clenched, “Sally Donovan. Your love affair with Anderson is about to come to a tragic end. By the time I’m done with him the entirety of London will hate him, the entire world will know his face and laugh every single time he walks by. The pair of you have finally pissed me off. I’ve put up with your utter crap for years now but that’s all over and done with, _do you hear me Donovan_?” John turned to Lestrade who stepped back instinctively, “I’m fucking serious about those charges. We help the Yard voluntarily because these cases need solving. Your incompetent band of bullies has pushed me way too fucking far this time. You get them out of here and now Lestrade before I drop this one too. Sherlock is going to take five minutes so I can get some ice on his eye and then we’re solving the case. _GO!_ ”

Sherlock watched the alley clear of everyone but John and the corpse they had been trying to examine.  He had to grit his teeth together to keep an appreciative growl at bay even as John pressed a hastily procured ice-pack from Lestrade’s panda onto his eye. John was bloody fantastic. John was commanding and dangerous. John was as brilliant as the sun, made of gold and razor sharp steel. Sherlock was warm from head to toe and didn’t even feel his eye slowly swelling shut as he stared at his lover with a large and very enamoured smile on his face. “You’re amazing John.” Sherlock knew he was getting aroused but he couldn’t help it even if there was a rather ripe body not ten feet away.

John came over and pushed Sherlock against the alley wall, looking up and inspecting his eye one more time carefully, “You’re the amazing one Sherlock. You are going to solve this case today and then we are going home.” John stepped back and tipped his head toward the body, “Well, go on. Be brilliant. I’m watching.”

Sherlock kissed John hungrily first, a kiss that was eagerly returned. Sherlock then went over the crime scene with John by his side, the pair of them doing what they could to extract information from yet another of Anderson’s muck-ups. Lestrade eventually approached them, “John?” he called, sounding almost nervous.

John went over to Greg and snapped, “Now what?” John looked very angry and Lestrade actually looked nervous. John handed back the reusable ice-pack and Lestrade took it almost apologetically.

“Listen John, is there any way we can work this out? If you press charges against Anderson, even if he really truly deserves it, it’s going to be me that gets all the shit and not him.” John really liked Lestrade and the taller man was looking down at Sherlock’s soldier with pleading eyes.

John stared hard at Lestrade for a long minute before speaking and Sherlock got shivers all over when he did. John’s voice was the epitome of implacableness.  “This is the way it’s going to be then Lestrade. Whenever you have a case that requires Sherlock’s attention you will remove your team _first_ and _then_ we will come. If I hear one more insult from either of those two, I am turning their world into a public hell from which there will be no escape. You know I can do it. This is so fucking ridiculous!”

“Deal, listen John, thanks for popping Anderson. He irritates me so much but his uncle has a lot of clout and even though he messes up a lot Anderson actually has a lot of potential. Once he pulls this stick out of his arse he has a chance at getting good at this job. Sherlock’s rubbed him the wrong way since the day they met but you’re right, Anderson and Donovan haven’t been professional. Other DI’s have complained about them and I’ve taken _those_ complaints to my superiors and am letting them handle it. Can we leave it there?”

John exhaled impatiently, “Keep them away from me Greg, seriously. I’m not fucking putting up with any more shit from anyone alright? I’m fed up with all this crap. Straighten them out and we have a deal.”

“Thanks John. Seriously, thanks. I know those two have been on your shit list for a long time. I’ll see what I can do to minimize your contact with them.” Lestrade at least knew that he needed John and Sherlock more than they needed him. They received more than enough private contracts to keep them busy, if they so chose, but those cases were seldom as gruesomely interesting as those the Yard was required to deal with.

“Appreciated Greg, now if you don’t mind?” John looked meaningfully at Sherlock and Sherlock grinned. The Work came first.

“Right, we’ll be out front if you find anything.” and with that Greg went back out to the street to wait with the rest of his team.

John came over and kissed Sherlock once again, “I love you. Go. Find the bad guy.” Sherlock was glowing with happiness and went over the crime scene swiftly. Even with the damaged done by Anderson Sherlock was still able to tease out clues solid enough to give Lestrade and Donovan a direction to follow.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” demanded Donovan, the word ‘freak’ on the tip of her tongue. She was clearly still very angry with Sherlock and was now including John in her frown.

Sherlock looked down at Donovan coldly from beside John who was glaring at her outright, “Aren’t you able to do your job now that I’ve given you absolutely everything? You have a suspect, motive, evidence, all of it. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to follow directions to an address and how to put handcuffs on someone. Surely you and Anderson practice on one another, or are those bruises around both your wrists from something else?” Sherlock was scathing and Donovan opened her mouth to retort but Lestrade jumped in.

“We have more than enough to make an arrest. Thank you for your time Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson.” with a sharp nod Lestrade made Donovan get into their car, leaving Anderson and the rest of the forensics team behind to deal with the body. Sherlock hailed a cab and soon the pair of them were off.

“Okay, where to really?” asked John who knew his partner very well.

“Oh we’re going home John, right now.” Sherlock wasted no time hailing a cab. He slipped the driver a handful of bills, “Keep it all if you can get us to Baker Street within 10 minutes.”

Sherlock held John’s hand tightly for the entire ride but would not permit more contact than that. He held himself stiffly while John sat there looking out the window and simply waiting patiently. Every minute or so John’s thumb would sweep over Sherlock’s fingers, it was almost soothing but for Sherlock it was also almost painfully arousing. “We’re here.” stated John calmly as they pulled into Baker Street. Sherlock dragged him out and into their flat will all possible speed, “Sherlock!” John protested as he was nearly pushed through the door.

Sherlock stopped everything with a kiss, “It’s time John. Now.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

“Here?”

“Bedroom.”

“Go.”

Sherlock went. John locked the door to their flat before following Sherlock right to his room. They were still wearing their coats and shoes. John stood there and just looked at Sherlock; his blue eyes seemed to burn over the taller man. “John.”

“Sh. I know what I want.” Sherlock shivered and stood still. John removed his coat first, draping it over the chair near Sherlock’s bedside. He toed off his shoes and stripped away his socks, just getting undressed as if he’d done so in front of Sherlock a million times. Sherlock couldn’t breathe. John pulled off his jumper and folded it neatly; it left his hair rumpled and Sherlock’s hands twitched. John unbuttoned his shirt and folded it on top of his jumper before unbuckling his belt to push his trousers away. When John was finally standing in front of him wearing only a pair of white lined red pants Sherlock became acutely aware of the weight of his Belstaff and how hot his scarf was making his neck, “ _Strip_.”

John’s voice was crisp and Sherlock’s hands were moving before he could recover from the delicious shock of it. Unlike John Sherlock discarded everything hastily, letting everything drop where it would as he peeled himself out of his coat and suit. He didn’t let himself think until he stood in front of John in only the blue silk briefs he favored. Sherlock realized his cheeks were painted with a high blush he could not subdue and that he was more than a little physically aroused. His hands shook and he clenched them into fists to still them. “I’ve never done this before.”

“I know.” John’s voice was gentle and soft, “I know you better than you think Sherlock. I know you’ve never trusted anyone enough to let them get close enough to even try. I know I’m the first person you’ve ever even thought about this way.” John stepped closer, letting Sherlock feel the warmth that radiated from him, “I can teach you whatever you want to know.”

Sherlock shuddered again. Here was a whole new realm of learning to explore, an infinite universe of sensations that he would journey with John and John alone. “Please.” Sherlock didn’t know what he was asking for but John seemed to. With a small tender smile John reached up to pull Sherlock’s head down and kissed him.

It was sweet and meltingly hot at the same time. Sherlock felt his knees buckle but John was there and pushed Sherlock toward the bed so he was sitting on the edge with John kneeling over his thighs. Their bellies pressed together and John was kissing Sherlock with ever increasing passion until Sherlock had to grip John’s shoulders tight to steady himself. John laid Sherlock back gently, pressing burning little kisses along his throat, his clever tongue lapping and tasting as the doctor made every inch of Sherlock’s skin come to life. There was no place John’s lips did not touch and when he urged Sherlock to turn over the detective found that he was spreading himself shamelessly as John fit a pillow beneath his hips.

John kept murmuring small praises, his mouth busy as he worked his way over Sherlock’s back, gently kissing here and there as his hand stroked up and down the back of Sherlock’s thighs, sweeping closer and closer until his small strong hands were gripping and squeezing Sherlock’s ass reverently. One hand disappeared for only a second before returning to spread him wide once again. Sherlock jerked a bit when John’s dampened finger swept over him for the first time. John asked for permission to touch further, “Anything John. Everything.”

John prepared Sherlock slowly and with great delicacy. His small hands were very clever and John’s fingers eased their way into Sherlock’s body one at a time while John continued to kiss Sherlock here and there. The doctor was careful to allow Sherlock the time to become accustomed to each step before he took another and then another and then another until Sherlock was gripping the bedding tightly and almost whining with desperation. He’d never felt like this, never wanted to be penetrated so urgently. All Sherlock knew was that fingers were no longer enough, that the long slow tease he’d endured was almost too much, that his cock nearly hurt from the desire to come, and that John was the most brilliant man alive, “I love you John.”

“I love you too Sherlock.” John kissed him silent once more and renewed his possession of Sherlock’s flesh with increased ardor. Now Sherlock was incapable of stifling the little shocked cries that John wrung from him, his dual attack of hands and mouth taught Sherlock that his transport was entirely out of his control. John was masterful, coaxing Sherlock into a state of ecstatic tension so sublime he was nearly in tears. John turned him over, “I want to see you. Bear down.” he whispered and Sherlock obeyed as he felt John’s fingers slip away only to be almost instantly replaced with the blunt heat of John’s cock.

John pushed forward and Sherlock could feel his body resist. He tried to relax as much as possible and accepted John into him with a deep groan, “Oh god, you’re so beautiful, look at you! Just look at you!” John’s voice was broken and raspy, his words filled with something akin to rapture and once more it was all almost too much for Sherlock to deal with.

John leaned toward the man beneath him as he sheathed himself smoothly, burying himself gently but resolutely. When John was pressed tight to Sherlock he caught his mouth in a long sweet kiss and allowed Sherlock to adjust and simply feel their union, “John.” There was so much Sherlock wanted to say. He wanted to describe the bliss he was feeling, how he felt almost soppily sentimental, how John made Sherlock feel weak and strong at the same time, that this was the most mind-blowing experience he’d ever had, Sherlock wanted to say all these things and more but words failed him and all he could do was repeat himself, “John.”

“Just feel me love, _just feel_.” John began to move slowly now, withdrawing carefully before pushing in gently. Sherlock felt the intrusion acutely. His body strained to accommodate John’s hard flesh and the strangeness of it momentarily eclipsed the pleasure.

John changed that almost immediately. With a subtle adjustment of his knees and hips John altered the angle of his thrust and suddenly all of Sherlock’s nerves sparked into hyper-awareness, “ _John_!”

“That’s it right there love, feel that, just let it happen.” John knew exactly how to read Sherlock’s reactions, adjusting the growing ferocity of his motions slowly, grazing across Sherlock’s prostate only occasionally in random strokes, enough to keep Sherlock riding the fine edge of orgasm. Sherlock’s arms were above his head and they were splayed against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut as he lay there with his thighs pushed as wide as they could go. He braced himself against John’s thrusts, barely managing to keep himself in place. John moved his hands from Sherlock’s hips to his thighs and began to slice into him with a fluid rhythm. Sherlock’s cries were low and ragged, John drew forth the animalist elements that the detective worked so hard to subdue, freed Sherlock to simply experience the act without making demands. John’s thrusts took on a hard steady pace, making the bed shake with them and Sherlock exhaled raggedly when John snapped, “ _Touch yourself_.”

Sherlock had to force his right hand to release its grip on the mattress to reach himself. He could feel a patch of damp on his belly and used the available precum to slick himself before making a fist and fucking his cock through it, “John! _Oh god_ , John!” Sherlock felt himself clenching down around John, felt himself be anchored by that intimate connection. John bucked hard into Sherlock and grazed over his prostate one last time and Sherlock shouted as he came. John was swearing and rutting wildly now but Sherlock was already lost in the delicious pulses of pleasure that took his breath away and made every single molecule of him simply burn with delight.

For the longest moment he was obliterated by it. This was so much finer than anything Sherlock had ever enjoyed alone. This was a mountain of pleasure compared to the small hills he’d conquered on his own. Sharp jolts followed the initial orgasm and each shock of pleasure made Sherlock’s entire body tense and jerk until he was finally limp and motionless except for his heaving chest and the unseeing blink of his eyes.

John was kneeling between Sherlock’s legs, his head hanging down as his chest worked like bellows, the muscles taking in huge drafts of air until John calmed. He was sweaty and his neck and face were deeply flushed from the exertion. Sherlock managed to keep his eyes trained on his doctor though they desperately wanted to close. John was so beautiful, the more Sherlock saw him the more he marveled. John raised his head and looked at Sherlock with eyes that were stormy and tranquil at the same time. John was raw power and infinite control and Sherlock loved him more than ever, “John.”

The doctor smiled and leaned forward wearily to kiss Sherlock softly. When he knelt back John eased himself out of Sherlock who didn’t enjoy the separation at all. Already he missed it and couldn’t wait for the next time, and the next time and the eternity of next times they would have together. John used his own shirt to clean off the mess on Sherlock’s stomach and between his legs, dropping it to the side of the bed without care. John gathered Sherlock up into his arms and relaxed back onto the pillows with a deeply contented sigh, “If I were younger I’d be all over you already. That was amazing.” Oh John! He really was perfection made flesh.

Sherlock lay there and let his mind wander freely as John’s hand rubbed up and down his back without purpose, John was grounding himself the same way Sherlock was and so the detective cuddled closer even though they were both very hot, if John couldn’t be in Sherlock then Sherlock would settle for having as much of John touching him at once as he could manage. “We need to make a list.”

John laughed, “Another one? For what?” and Sherlock could hear the smile in John’s voice.

“A sex list, we need to make a list of all the different ways we can have sex. Think of all the places it could happen, think of all the positions and techniques. We need to make a list so we don’t miss anything.”

John grew very still and Sherlock had to turn his head up to see if John was alright. He was. John’s eyes were bright if distant and he was clearly starting his list in his head. Sherlock couldn’t have that so he poked John’s stomach with his finger and John started talking, “Well we bypassed all sorts of fun things. Oral sex for one, I think you’ll enjoy that, frottage, intercrural, topping if you want, I don’t mind. Yeah. We’ll have to make a list.”

Topping. Sherlock had forgotten his urge to do exactly that, to have John kneeling in front of him, right where Sherlock could see and control everything. He felt his body make a half-hearted effort to become aroused again but as magnificent as that would be John had done a rather good job of it already and Sherlock simply did not have the energy to do more than grin foolishly into John’s chest as he searched his mind palace for everything he’d ever encountered when it came to sex and all its permutations. Sherlock thought of John’s list and one of the items on it, “It would probably be easier to accomplish if you were staying here in my room with me.”

John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head, “We’ll sort that out later today.” Sherlock was very happy. Today was a wonderful day. He needed to do something more for John to show him how much he appreciated everything and John said, “You should call Angelo and see if he’ll deliver food even though he doesn’t normally. He’d do it for you. I want pasta.”

If John was hungry then Sherlock was more than willing to wobble from the bed to retrieve his mobile and call Angelo. To compensate for the bother Sherlock ordered a huge amount of food and included a massive tip that Angelo tried to refuse so Sherlock gave it to the waiter-turned-delivery-boy instead to share with the cook. They’d shared a quick shower while they waited for their food and now that they were stuffed Sherlock lounged indolently on the sofa in his pajamas and robe while John made tea.

John settled on the sofa beside Sherlock, “This is one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Sherlock had to agree, “Crime in the morning, sex during the day, romantic dinner at night, it’s been a very good day indeed.” Sherlock let John finish his tea before dragging the doctor up to his room to begin hauling his things down into Sherlock’s, “Our room John, not mine.” Sherlock ruthlessly displaced his possessions to fit all of John’s personal things and relocated them in the now abandoned wardrobe upstairs. “We can keep this like a guest room or turn it into an office or something,” decided John after they’d completed their work. John didn’t own much and all of it took only a couple of trips each.

“Office, I’m not encouraging people to stay with us.” Sherlock wanted to keep 221 B just for them. This was their place.

John stopped walking and stood there looking at Sherlock, “We’re really doing this aren’t we.”

“What do you mean John?”

“We’re really together and we’re going to be together not just in private but out in the world too. It’s really happening.” John looked amazed and then he looked both happy and grateful, “I love you Sherlock. I can’t imagine being happier than I am right now.”

Sherlock’s smile was easy and filled with unabashed delight, “It’s really happening John and if we’re very lucky it will continue for as many years as we can manage.”

“I’d like to grow old with you.” said John with a small smile.

Sherlock could see it suddenly, both of them as white-haired old men, wrinkled and going bald. Maybe they’d even get married one day, who could tell? John would probably shift from jumpers to cardigans, he’d need glasses eventually but then so would Sherlock. They’d sleep together in a bed they’d shared for decades and eat together thousands of times, share their misery and their joys with each other as their days grew richer and fewer. “There’s no one I’d rather grow old with than you John.” they had decades together still, long years filled with mystery and excitement, passion and enduring love. He’d make a list of all the things he wanted to do with John, things like traveling and trying new things out. He’d seen some of the world while on the run and John had seen a bit more while in the service. Perhaps John would like to go with Sherlock and see the world without haste, to simply take in what there was and experience it together. Sherlock asked.

“As long as me and you Sherlock, of course I’d like that.” Of all the lists in Sherlock’s head that was the point that mattered the most. Seduction lists, romance lists, breakup lists, confession lists, sex lists, all of them only worked because of one thing, Sherlock and John, together. This was the way their new world would work and finally, Sherlock and John were at peace, united.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End  
> *making a new list for later*

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank magazines like "Cosmo" for the list.


End file.
